II. An Endless Gift

 

Map of Israel
 
I gaze at the map
and picture the snow-capped Hermon
rising above God’s own country
like a rampant blue and white lion.
My eyes take in milk-white water
gushing through the folds of the map
filling a blue harp.
I see fields full of honey-sweet
freshly baked bread, cake and cookies
red and white wines growing on vines
and bees and birds thrumming praises to God.
My lips taste the salt of the Med
as its surf laps the edge of the map.
My fingers feel the smooth stones of the
ever-touched Wall, separating
the wailing of yesteryear's sorrows from
the golden light of the modern State.
My ears are struck by prayers
and tears of the sick and needy
ascending heavenward
knocking on God’s ever open door.
And I smell the savoury aroma of freshly
cooked meats and fish
welcoming the Shabbat queen.
 
I fold the map
and place its well-worn warmth in the
inside pocket of my jacket -
Jerusalem touching my heart.
                                                        —Julian Alper
 

*
 

[untitled]
 
Ecclesiastes offered us a value system;
but who has spoken of birth?  Itself
a true miracle.  The gift of my body
pushed humans into this world who
could see, hear, cry, grow up, think, speak.
In 1948, as a young teen, a different birth:
I strutted around the one room synagogue
set above a shoe repair shop until funds later
allowed its congregants to buy a house to transform
into a shul.  The prancing was the birth of Israel.  
Words, mimeographed with its purple ink staining,
spoke of this birth of a country where Jews would
sing and grow minus pogroms and death camps.
A speck of land surrounded by hostility was a gift.
While birth ultimately leads to death, and we’re not
really taught about life cycle by parents or teachers,
it is always a ‘beginning’, a chance to enrich and
realize that only G-d can allow such an extraordinary
event.
                —Lois Greene Stone

*

TWO POEMS FOR “HILLTOP YOUTH”

 SOMEWHERE IN THE HILLS

 

I saw something different,

I saw something new,

I saw something beautiful,

I saw something moving.

 

I saw youths focused on their goal —

To settle the hill.

 

No house, no door, no windows,

A structure open to the four winds.

 

The landscape similar to their souls:

Everything open, everything broad, everything breathing, everything alive.

 

A moving coordination between the landscape and those youths,

From the landscape they learned the colorful expanse of spirit and feeling.

 

They aren’t disturbed by the difficulties of the terrain,

The main thing is to live on the hill.

The main thing is to breathe the air of a hill in the land of Israel.

 

Somewhere on the hill time has no meaning,

They’re not running, no one has a stop-watch,

They are learning to enjoy what there is, what is developing.

They build knowing that at any moment destruction may arrive again and again.

They do not give up,

They are like the baby learning to stand on its feet –

Falling and getting up again, till he’s stable, till they’re settled.

 

The hill is their refuge.

Where the enemy watches them with intent to hurt,

When the shepherd walks alone in the space with the sheep.

 

This refuge is where anarchists will come with the enemy,

To support the enemy.

This refuge is where policemen and soldiers will come to evacuate them with violence,

Seizing the basic equipment they need to survive in primitive conditions.

And all these paradoxes do not impress them,

Do not affect them.

For somewhere on the hill a whole world is developing,

Growing and being destroyed again and again,

And being rebuilt.

Somewhere on a hill they are building a rectified world, a Jewish world,

With deep roots in earth and soul.

 

Somewhere on a hill progress has no meaning.

Somewhere on a hill they know what to do and how to do it

In the face of innumerable obstacles.

 

For somewhere on a hill light and darkness mingle and confront each other

Till the infinite light shall conquer the darkness.

 

 

THE HILL AND THE YOUTHS

 

The youths watch the hill from afar.

With a happy heart they say to it quietly:

“Soon we will come and set up an outpost on you.”

The hill smiles at them and gets excited.

“Come, but be aware –

They will come many times to destroy

All that you will build.”

The youths are not afraid:

“They can destroy shacks and fences,

But who can break our spirit?”

The hill is so happy, it answers them:

“I’m waiting for you, come and build.”

And they ascend.

They begin to build little by little, step by step.

No electricity, but the light in their hearts illumines everything.

No heating, but they warm themselves with words of Torah and a small fire.

No beds on the outpost –

They manage with a thin mattress like a royal surface.

No guns, for they are forbidden to carry guns; but faith and alertness are their defense.

 

They don’t really sleep, either by day or by night.

They tense at every noise. Flashlight in hand, they guard the hill.

They have no “permit” to be here, but they remember the promise

That the Creator of the world gave to Abraham:

“To your seed I will give this land.”

The hill has already been conquered with love.

It knows that there will still be days of destruction,

Blows, humiliations, perhaps arrests.

But it knows that nothing will defeat their devotion to their hill.

Not cold, not rain, not mud, not thorns and not the enemy —

Nothing will change their decision to live here.

Through fire and water, the youths will always return.

The hill and the youths have signed a soul-contract

And on the seal, in letters of gold, is written:

“We will settle the hill to all eternity.”

And from that day

The hill and the youths were never parted.

                                                                             — Simcha Bakshiel

 

 *

 

When Torah was everywhere

 דָּרַשׁ עוֹבֵר גָּלִילָאָה: בְּהֵמָה שֶׁנִּבְרֵאת מִן הַיַּבָּשָׁה -- Chullin 27

 

Once upon a time (and before too long,

again), Torah knowledge spread widely,

like water upon the face of the earth.

 

Ancient rabbis learned from a passing Galilean

the art of kosher slaughtering for animals.

Birds and fish are different. But this traveler

taught that mammals come from earth, hence

need to have a clean cut to both

trachea and esophagus.

 

Even if we know more about the genetics

of evolution than a long-ago itinerant Jew,

we still quote and follow his views.

Knowledge of Torah is no elitist pastime.

It is a democratic privilege which we would

do well to embrace and refine so as to prepare

the world to be enveloped by wisdom once again.

                                                                                          — Vera Schwarcz

 

*

 

Jugular of Conscience

 מִשֶּׁנִּכְנְסוּ לָאָרֶץ נֶאֱסַר לָהֶן בְּשַׂר נְחִירָ – Chullin 17

 

Meat! Oh the cruel desire of humanity!

Permitted first to Noach, survivor

of the world’s destruction.

 

Jews, survivors of slavery in Egypt,

also longed for, complained about

fleshpots. Drowned in quails and disfavor.

Still, meat we seem to crave. While

wandering in the desert, stabbing

sufficed, so Rav Akiva tells us.

 

When we finally entered the Land of Israel,

a new standard for morality kicks in.

We use and endlessly check knives!

We are challenged to become more than

we were. To grow conscious of the animal’s

pain and cry. We eat meat, and sometimes

merit to cry for the life taken for our satiety.

 

Look at the sharp, ever sharpened blade.

It cuts close to the jugular of conscience too.

                                                                                 — Vera Schwarcz

*

Under the Rotem Tree

                                                             ”וְהוּא הָלַךְ בַּמִדְבָּר דֶרֶךְ יוֹם, וַיָבוֹא וַיֵשֶׁב תַּחַת רוֹתֶם אֶחָד.

מלכים א' יט:ד

 

 “And he went a day’s journey into the wilderness, and came and sat down under one rotem tree.”

1 Kings 19:4

 

Eliyahu haNavi

was sitting under the rotem tree.

From the wicked queen and king he fled

with the shade of the rotem on his head.

 

                Oh, you wicked queen and king,

                why do you do this evil thing?

                You treat our prophet with no respect.

                Your spark of goodness I can’t detect.

                Eliyahu is a man so fine.

                He comes every Pesach to drink some wine.

 

But the queen and the king didn’t care at all.

They just worshipped their stupid Baal.

But the prophet can foresee their fall.

When Mashiach arrives he’ll sound the call.

Then we’ll go to Gan Eden and all will be well,

and the queen and the king can go to Hell.

                                                                              — Pesach Rotem

 

*

 

A TALMUDIC BALLAD  (Bava Kamma 117)

 To Yavneh Rav Kahana came,
Preceded by renown
Which he had earned among the wise
Who taught in Babylon.
 
Rav said to him "You are welcome here,
For we have heard your praise,
But though you are great in Babylon,
You do not know our ways.
 
"Therefore I bid you promise
That you will sit and hear
And ask no questions of the rav
For the space of seven years."
 
He vowed, and thereon made his way
To Rav Yochanan's study hall,
Where sat before him in seven rows
His diligent students all.
 
Seven cushions had those students brought
To make Rav Yochanan's seat,
That from above them he might teach,
As surely was most meet.
 
They seated Rav Kahana
With the foremost and the best,
Looking to hear wise questions
From the distinguished guest.
 
Rav Yochanan gave his lesson,
He clinched his point, and ceased,
And looked at Rav Kahana—
Rav Kahana held his peace.
 
"And have you then no questions?
Is there no more to know?
I think, dear Rabbi, that your place
Is in the second row."
 
Rav Kahana got up and changed,
Though it grieved his heart full sore;
And since he would not break his word,
This happened six times more.
 
And when he sat in the seventh row,
He said, "It seems to me
That seven rows are seven years,
And therefore I am free."
 
Then up got Rav Kahana,
He stood up on his feet
And called unto Rav Yochanan,
"What you have said, repeat!"

Rav Yochanan fulfilled his wish
And his first lesson retold,
The questions Rav Kahana asked
Were hard as iron cold.

"Well asked, well asked indeed!" declared
Rav Yochanan forthwith,
And bade his guest move up a row
And listen from the sixth.

Rav Yochanan spoke, Rav Kahana asked,
And each time changed his place
Until once more the two of them
Were sitting face to face.

When the eighth time Rav Yochanan spoke,
Rav Kahana questioned fair,
Rav Yochanan got up and gave
Him a cushion from his chair.

 And as six times the same recurred,
Rav Yochanan sat on the floor.
Then he looked at Rav Kahana straight on,
Which he had not done before,

And lo, Rav Kahana's lip seemed curled
With a sneer of scorn and pride –
Rav Yochanan flashed him a look of fire
So he toppled down and died!

 Then someone rushed up to explain:
"It was no sneer you saw.
Rav Kahana's mouth was ever wry—
It is a facial flaw."

 Rav Yochanan  revived him then,
But still the lesson's clear:
Whomever sits up front to teach
The student must revere!
                                                   —Esther Cameron

 *

from Bar None

 nathan & chorus:
Judea’s my home; aromatics, my Rome;
A fine reputation, my aim;
Abundance, my well of relief; the gazelle,
My patroness; Nathan, my name.

NARRATOR:
There once was a Jew in Jerusalem who,
One classily desolate day
Beset with a tea-&-tobacco ennui,
Decided to host a soirée.

His appetent hands & irriguous lands
Were full with phenomenal wealth—
His gamekeepers, aides & young scullery maids
Proceeding with servile stealth.

He wanted a board (therefore) fit for a lord,
Remorselessly heavy with fine
Iberian plates of Samarian dates,
Soufflé, & Falernian wine.

Content with his clout, he was thinking about
The guests who would enter his door.

nathan:
Selecting them has as much urgency as
Selecting the vintage to pour.

NARRATOR:
This prosperous peer soon dispatched his vizier
Across his demesne to request
In sumptuous speech the attendance of each
Uncommonly fortunate guest.

nathan & chorus:
Prestige is my mirth; gold & silver, my hearth;
A hint of compassion, my shame;
An impulse, my don; the ĭndíffĕrĕnt swan,
My patroness; Nathan, my name.

NARRATOR:
Ascending a step to determine that prép-
ărátĭons were well underway,
The man had to laugh: riches choreograph
The Lord of the Manor’s ballet.

This frankincense thinned in the citrusy wind.
Vibrato was taught how to stir
An atmosphere blued with galbanum & oud,
ŏpópŏnăx, nutmeg & myrrh—

An atmosphere sweet with Jordanian heat,
Darbukas, æstheticized sprigs
Of olive & shapes reminiscent of grapes,
Flamingo tongues, custard & figs—

An atmosphere fine with persimmon & pine
Acacia, bassoons & effete
Varieties of prototypical love.
The builder regarded it meet

Thereto to convene a rare traceried screen
Of ánĭsŏtrópĭc’lly̆ queer
Mahagony wood. It was there Nathan stood,
Observing the people appear.

There once was a Jew in Jerusalem who
Looked up from his goblet, surveyed
His guests in the round & indignantly found
A dire mistake had been made.

Annealing his face in malevolent grace,
Attention aloof as a spear,
This Nathan proceeded immediately
To rémŏnstrăte with his vizier.

nathan:
I’ve long known a Jew in Jerusalem who
Is warmed by Civility’s flame.
Unreason’s his reasoning; elegant ease,
His currency; Kamza, his name.

There’s also a Jew in Jerusalem to
Whom infamy passes for fame.
Chagrin is his wine; old resentment, his mine
Of amber; Bar-Kamza, his name.

As always, my clerk, simply brilliant work,

NARRATOR:
The vicious aristocrat un-
Forgivingly sneers,

nathan:
                                  —for you have, it appears,
Invited the incorrect one.
                                              —Jeffrey Burghauser 

[Note: this piece is based on theTalmudic  story of Kamza and Bar-Kamza, in which “causeless hatred” started a chain of events that led to the destruction of the Temple. -- EC]

 

 * 

 

Fuel

 

Incendiary headlines

begin the

Book of Esther 2.0:

Haman Mines Hormuz!

 

So suddenly, just now,

an entire fired up globe,

craving oil,

is writing its own

Megillah.

 

But will today’s scribes

red-pencil the part about

flaming high tech arrows

poised to barbecue

the rib cages

of Mordecai,

Mattathias,

et al.?

 

Beating hearts

within those

storied chests,

targeted by

a legacy of

rogue grill masters,

have already outlived

 

Antiochus’s

siege,

the auto-de-fe’s

pyres and,

while the world

shrugged,

24-hour-a-day

smokestacks.

                         —Donald Mender

 

 *

 

Who the Hell Are the Houthis?

 

Who the hell are the Houthis,

and why do they act so mean?

We had enough problems already,

before the Houthis arrived on the scene.

 

We had enemies a-plenty,

enemies all about.

We had Hezbollah to the north of us

and Hamas down in the south.

 

Then all of a sudden

the Houthis appear.

They came to sow chaos,

mayhem, and fear.

 

They came out of nowhere

to add to our woes.

They came out of Yemen

and linked arms with our foes.

 

One shot to the airport

was all that they need

to make the airlines cancel flights

and the tourists to stampede.

 

Donald Trump extols their bravery

but I must disagree.

They are just a bunch of cowards

as far as I can see.

 

How I hate those horrible Houthis!

I hate them with all my might!

I would like to catch just one of them

and beat him in a fight.    

                       

I’d kick him in the tuchus.

I’d punch him in the nose.

I’d call him lots of dirty names

and stomp down on his toes.

 

That would teach him a lesson.

I hope he learns it well.

I hope all of those goddamn Houthis

drop dead and go to hell.

                                              — Pesach Rotem

 

*

 

The Kabbalist

 after lines by Pär Lagerkvist

 

What nourishes the soul like longing for

what can’t exist, knowing it can’t exist?

You are not light, for You created light.

You are not dark, for You created dark.

You cannot be, for Being comes from You.

Let gentiles dream their way into Your arms,

burning themselves away in ecstasies.

What is their bliss against this emptiness?

What union ravishes like loneliness?

I reach for You, and find that you are Nothing.

 

To seek for God, knowing there is no God,

is holier than faith held to be true–

more wondrous, strange, than any God could be.

Why should a creature cry out in the dark,

petitioning a void that does not hear?

Why should that be? It is this mystery

which makes the cry itself a holy thing.

 

I pray this cosmic heartache never fades.

I pray that I may never be at peace.

May neither death nor life be solved for me.

O let me search unendingly for You,

with death forever biting at my heels.

                                                                      — Elijah Blumov

 

*

 

 The Sabbath
 To build a shrine of time requires toil.
We rest so we may put ourselves to work
constructing stained glass visions of attention,
and when we rest, we rest from all distraction.
Tonight, the world becomes our synagogue,
the house where we are married to our God,
and every act is prayer, means to caress
this bride whose body we cannot resist.
She is the beauty of a blade of grass,
she is the rot which makes us grass ourselves,
the lurking fear of death, the awe of living,
an endless gift demanding endless giving.
Tonight, Shalom is not a dream we’ve missed,
but fierce embrace of all that must exist.
                                                                         — Elijah Blumov

 

*

 

Hidden/Revealed

 

what was hidden was or is latent

from Dead Sea Scrolls to Oyneg Shabos Archives

with other momentous discoveries of many kinds

The Aleppo Codex  the Ark of the Covenant and such

 

Hashem hid the first light and leviahan’s meat for tzadikim

hidden forced anusim have come to light

and no person knows the Name of G-d

all of these share the common thread of Israel’s survival

 

the mashiach will be born

nobody knows exactly when and how

what was or is latent waits the right moment

                                                                                 —Hayim Abramson